


Breaklock

by ThreeHeads4Paws



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Gen, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Sherlock blames himself, originally written in 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24147574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeHeads4Paws/pseuds/ThreeHeads4Paws
Summary: Sherlock is thrown into panic when John Watson is seriously injured.Warnings: Mentions of blood, serious injury.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	Breaklock

**Author's Note:**

> Adding this to my list of 2014 Sherlock fics... 
> 
> Warnings: Blood, injury and self-blame(?)

Sherlock crouched over John's body, frantically reviewing his injuries.  


_One bullet wound to the abdomen; Bleeding profusely.  
Several cuts to his face, arms; not life threatening.  
Think. THINK.  
_ _John doesn't have a mind palace to keep him calm, he only has Sherlock and Sherlock, you are doing shit all to help._  


'Sherlock, look at me.'  
The detective's wide blue eyes met the doctor's tired gaze.  
'You need to apply pressure, Sherlock, like you did with the guard, remember?'  


_Yes, the guard with the delayed action stab wound.  
Press your scarf against the wound._  


He picked up the blue scarf from the floor where he had dropped it in his desperation to get to John. He doesn't give a thought to how he will need a new scarf after this; not because it will be stained with blood - Mrs Hudson is wonderful at getting all manner of stains out of their clothing after cases - but because every time he looks at it he will have this image of his Watson lying on the floor, bleeding from a bullet Sherlock wasn't clever enough to stop. He was stupid, _SO STUPID._  
'Call an ambulance, Sherlock.'  
He presses the item to John's stomach with one hand and reaches for his mobile from his coat pocket with the other.  
He dials with a shaking hand and lifts it to his ear, waiting for a response.  
After declaring a need for an ambulance and recounting their location and the details of the injury Sherlock puts the phone down.  
'Sherlock, keep talking to me, keep me awake.'  
Sherlock's mind goes blank and it terrifies him.  
'Umm… Errr… Do you… do you think Mrs Hudson dusts when we're not around?'  
John smiles.  
'Yeah, she probably does, not enough for you to notice though. Only in places where you wouldn't find out.'  
'Like under the… sofa.'  
'Exactly, I bet that it's spotless under there.'  
'We should check when we get back.'  
'Definitely.'  
John gasps in pain and Sherlock's hands shake harder, pressing firmly on his scarf over the wound.  
'Sherlock, it's okay, it's okay, Sherlock.'  
'I think that's supposed to be my line.'  
He's trying desperately, so desperately, to keep John positive.  
With his left hand he clumsily sends a text to Lestrade, summing up their predicament. There are spelling mistakes and punctuation in the wrong places, so bad in fact that it only takes DI Greg Lestrade until the end of the first line to send out a response team, rushing through the station to his own car before he's on the road in their direction.  
A faint moan from John brings him back into reality as he realises John's eyes are drooping.  
'John? John? Stay with me, okay? Stay with me.'  
'I'm here. It's okay.'  
'Stop saying it's okay, it's really rather not.'  
John smiles at how British he sounds and it jolts his consciousness enough to bring Sherlock back into focus.  
'Hey, hey, don't.'  
John brings his left hand up slowly to wipe the tear on Sherlock's cheek away. He hadn't even noticed his cheek dampen. Sherlock's shoulders draw him up and he takes a deep breath.  
'Human error.'  
John smiles at that. And then feels himself start to drift.  
'I can't… keep… wake.'  
'No, no, John. Stay with me.'  
Sherlock holds his head in the hand not occupied by the scarf, lifting it, rubbing his temple, trying to get something that will bring him back.  
'John. Come back.'  
His voice is reasonably steady, his hands are not shaking as much as his mind clears and he talks.  
'Come on, John. You've survived so much. Bonfires and pool side bombs. Stag nights and two years of grieving. Sorry again about that. So sorry.'  
'And we're still here.'  
John's voice is like the flickering flame on a candle in a dark room. It sparks Sherlock's relief and calms his heart. He presses his fingers against John's wrist, checking his pulse. Fairly low but still there.  
'Sherlock…'  
And then the flame goes out.  
'John?'  
His question falls on unconscious ears.  
'John stay with me, the ambulance will be here soon, Lestrade will be here. Everything's going to be back to normal, okay. Okay?'  
Silence.  
'John.'  
Sherlock's breath catches in his throat, his heart starts pounding and his hands resume shaking.  
'No, no, no. John, can you hear me? Stay with me, okay? Please, stay with me.'  
He checks his pulse again, this time it's fainter.  
'John? JOHN!'  
He removes his hands a second to take off his greatcoat to cover his blogger with, then resumes pressure.  
'Please come back, John, please. Don't leave me.'  
He hardly notices when he starts to cry, his first indication is the tear drop that falls onto his coat but he doesn't care.  
'Please don't leave me, John, don't leave me alone.'  
Sherlock sobs, shaking violently on the cold floor.  
The clatter of a heavy door breaks him away from his pleas.  
'In here! IN HERE!'  
The ambulance crew storm through the door, immediately moving around John's body, unloading their equipment. Sherlock has just enough energy to show a paramedic the gunshot wound he has been pressing down on before they are on John, connecting him to an oxygen tank, trying to regain his consciousness.  
Sherlock backs away, racked with breathy sobs.  


_Stupid, stupid, STUPID!  
John, come back to me.  
No one will ever forgive me.  
Please John._

Lestrade bursts in the door as they're loading John onto a stretcher to remove him from the room. They rush past him.  
He turns to one of the paramedics who is packing equipment.  
'Sorry, but was there someone else, I couldn't see anyone in the ambulance…'  
The paramedic gives him a sorrowful look and turns her head towards a dark corner of the room. As Lestrade steps closer he sees the outline of Sherlock, curled up as tight as he can, head buried in his arms. His coat has been draped over him.  
'He can't talk to anyone.'  
She picks up her bag and exits the room.  
Lestrade carefully approaches his friend and only then does he hear the muffled cries coming from under the coat. His heart breaks.  
He moves close to his back and gently places a hand on Sherlock's shoulder.  
Sherlock leans back against Lestrade's leg and sighs heavily, crying almost ceasing.  
'They've got him hooked up to the oxygen. He's not completely conscious but they believe he will be. Plenty of pain medication and that. They're taking him by air ambulance to the hospital for immediate surgery and then when he's patched up, he'll be in recovery and we can see him.'  
Sherlock turns and leans his forehead against Lestrade's leg, keeping his face turned down.  
'They say without your help he wouldn't have survived.'  
Lestrade places his hand on Sherlock's curly black-haired head.  
'You saved his life, Sherlock.'  
Sherlock does something he'd never do. As he leans against Lestrade's leg, he wraps his arms around it and clings on for his friend's dear life.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
